Claire
by clueless in seattle
Summary: After his recent experiences Bobby is in need of some love and romance...and a woman who might tie him down the rest of his life...


_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them is motivated only by my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretch the limits of that and totally suspend the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…well if you'd done the darned laundry maybe you would have clean underwear…you'll just have to go "commando"…again) _

_**Grrr…it seems Bobby has been out on the prowl picking up yet ANOTHER good-looking woman…a barf-fic…I mean…a song-fic…**_

**CLAIRE**

_**I've never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight,**_

_**I've never seen you shine so bright,**_

_**I've never seen so many men ask you if you wanted to dance,**_

_**They're looking for a little romance, given half a chance,**_

_**And I have never seen that dress you're wearing,**_

_**Or the highlights in your hair that catch your eyes,**_

_**I have been blind;**_

The song playing softly in the background was corny but somehow very appropriate, even if Bobby would deny to his dying breath having a copy of it in his apartment. His top secret _"Easy Listening"_ collection was going to stay that way. At least until he worked out why the singers the music shops filed under that category were all oddly unattractive men, past the first flush of youth and yet somehow possessed of a devoted female fan base, who went weak at the knees and threw underwear. He'd often suspected many of the fans were also oddly unattractive, past their first flush of youth and with limited invitations to take their panties off, so perhaps it did make sense after all?

But the woman in his living room with him was everything the song said. From the moment he saw her, Bobby was determined they should end the evening together. Unable to take his eyes from her wherever he went in the large function room at _The Plaza Hotel_. Her hair a mid brown, but with natural looking copper tints that caught the light, falling from a side parting in gentle waves very much in the _Veronica Lake_ style. And no question she caught the eye of other men present. In that dress of scarlet, which clung to her hourglass figure in all the right places.

_**The lady in red is dancing with me, cheek to cheek,**_

_**There's nobody here, it's just you and me,**_

_**It's where I want to be,**_

_**But I hardly know this beauty by my side,**_

_**I'll never forget the way you look tonight;**_

It had taken him a little while before he went up to her directly. For half an hour he'd stolen glances at her from the bar and found excuse to pass close by her table for a closer look. It wasn't that he was shy or lacking in self-confidence around women. Just picky and unlike some, not inclined to parade his interests and involvements in that direction as a kind of spectator amusement for colleagues and friends. So when he went over he wasn't stumbling and stuttering.

Just appreciating the swell of her breasts over the top of the strapless dress and her pale almost milky white skin. When his fingers brushed down her arm a little as he reached for her hand, it was cool and smooth. In contrast to the fabric of the dress turned out to be some sort of thin velvet. Moulded beautifully over the curved hip Bobby liked women to have, as his other hand rested there. The positioning purposeful, more intimate and a way of being sure he didn't yield to the temptation. Hand on her back in a more traditional hold; he wasn't sure he could have stopped his fingers stroking the bare skin. Or undertaking a little detective work to establish very quickly whether the dress zipped up at the back or the side. Or indeed, if she had been sewn into it the way it fitted like a second skin.

_**I've never seen you looking so gorgeous as you did tonight,**_

_**I've never seen you shine so bright, you were amazing,**_

_**I've never seen so many people want to be there by your side,**_

_**And when you turned to me and smiled, it took my breath away,**_

_**And I have never had such a feeling,**_

_**Such a feeling of complete and utter love, as I do tonight;**_

If her body was curvy, full and voluptuous, the sort it would be comfortable to be pressed against, not like making love to a sack of sharp sticks, her legs were stunning. All his life, or at least since he finally emerged from the bathroom at the end of puberty, Bobby had been a _"leg man"_. Spent many years developing and refining a complex taxonomy all of his own. From _"piano"_ which meant short and thick and generally to be avoided, through _"bar-stool"_ which had the advantage of length, which was good, but on the skinny side, which was not. But his life long quest had been for _"wrap around"_.

The sort whose name kind of said the situation in which they would be perfect. Sufficient length to do the job well and with enough _"padding"_ to avoid the feeling of friction burns on his own hips. Enough tone to suggest suitably animated urging and encouragement, not a dead weight slung around him. He'd seen that watching her, thanks to that slit up the side of her red dress. One just short enough to not label her with an uncomplimentary term. The sort where his intentions might have been of a different and limited duration. Lasting until breakfast tomorrow at the outside, not the long-term relationship he was rather hoping for and planning on as he watched her from across the room.

_**The lady in red is dancing with me, cheek to cheek,**_

_**There's nobody here, it's just you and me,**_

_**It's where I want to be,**_

_**But I hardly know this beauty by my side,**_

_**I'll never forget the way you look tonight;**_

And now they were together and alone. She'd come home with him. Not gone with that Wall Street trader type who no question was his serious competition in the room. Younger, better looking and no question richer than a cop, Bobby had started to panic at one point. That he'd lost out after all. That his hopes and dreams for tonight and the nights to come had been shattered. Seen that smirk on the man's smooth and no doubt _"male skin product"_ cared for face. Of impending victory. At least until his wife or girlfriend turned up and put a stop to his ambitions.

Bobby just hoped his own grin amid the stubble of a guy relied more on soap and water, was sufficiently _"triumphant"_ to piss him off as the final nail in the coffin of his evening. He stood up, put his hands gently round Claire, picked her up with a soft chuckle of pleasure and carried her through to the kitchen. Set her on the counter with a smile and smoothed the dress down over her legs.

He switched off the light and headed for the bedroom. On the bedside as he undressed, the catalogue for the auction of _"Novelty Cookie Jars"_ he'd been to at _The Plaza_. To outbid "_Wall Street Guy"_ for her, after her predecessor _Clara the Cow_ finally got beyond further repair. Though he still didn't believe Eames' story _"It was an accident Goren. She just slipped"_. She'd always hated that cookie jar and mostly the anatomical location of the opening.

If she hated _Clara_ his partner would loathe _Claire_ on first sight. _Though perhaps not first sight?_ Just when she discovered where you had to put your hand to get _Claire _to dispense oatmeal and peanut cookies. The ones in the large pack he'd emptied into her earlier were probably very safe. Bobby got into bed wearing just a smile and deciding maybe he could forgive Chris De Burgh for that ghastly song. Finally coming to an end on his CD player in the other room.

_**I never will forget the way you look tonight...**_

_**The lady in red, the lady in red,**_

_**The lady in red, my lady in red,**_

_**I love you...**_

**AN :** _Other men bricks not panties should be thrown at include…Barry Manilow, Brian Adams, Michael Bolton, Julio Inglesias, Cliff Richard and Neil Sedaka, who the older he gets looks more and more like some experiment Liberace once performed with either plastic surgery or his sexuality…it doesn't really matter which…_

**AN :** _I removed Phil Collins from the list after seeing the Cadbury's drum playing gorilla ad…but only for "In The Air Tonight"…it's still okay to toss masonry for the rest of his catalogue_


End file.
